


Jealousy is Such an Ugly Word

by Grimmalie



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Gen, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Spooning, What the Hell, it's for Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmalie/pseuds/Grimmalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holiday gift for pippen2112.</p><p>--</p><p>Natasha and Clint have coffee. Natasha and Clint like to chat. Natasha's not even remotely surprised when Clint shows up with a black eye and a broken nose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy is Such an Ugly Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pippen2112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/gifts).



Clint had a black eye and a broken nose. By this point, Natasha would have been more concerned if he showed up completely in one piece.

“What happened?” she asked, though she had her suspicions.

Clint threw his arms up in the air, then winced. Ah. A black eye, a broken nose, and probably bruised ribs to make a set.

“I was just trying to help out a friend,” he insisted. “Nice guy that I am!” 

Natasha hummed and sipped her coffee, not bothering to offer Clint a mug. He was worked up as it was.

“I take it this has to do with your new house guest?”

\--

Bucky twitched in his sleep, his expression pained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His cybernetic arm spasmed like a thing possessed, fueled by too many conflicting orders. It wasn’t a pretty sight. It hadn’t been any prettier when it had been Natasha thrashing and suffering. Poor Russian bastards.

Lucky whined and paced the floor, his tongue rolling out of his mouth. Clint sighed and scratched the lab behind his ears.

“I know, buddy. I’ll take care of this.

\--

Natasha fixed him with a blank stare as she slowly unwrapped a biscotti.

“Clint Barton,” she said carefully. “You are probably the single most—“

“It worked with you!” Clint insisted.

“Clint, when I woke up from a nightmare in bed next to someone I may or may not have recognized, my instinct was always to assess the situation and get my bearings. That is not his instinct.”

Clint slumped onto the counter. “I got that, now. Can I have a biscotti?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On just how stupid you were.”

\--

Clint stripped down to just his boxers because, hey, it got warm with two bodies under those covers. Silently, he slipped under his nice, soft, goosefeather comforter. good Lord, he’d missed his own bed. He knew after years of sleeping in cryo, Bucky sure could use it. And sure, the couch was comfy and all and Clint knew he oughtn’t complain, but this little slice of heaven damn near brought tears to his eyes.

He let out a deep, throaty groan of satisfaction—the sort that only a handful of people, Natasha Romanoff, Jessica Drew, and Bobbi Morse among them, had ever heard—and wriggled down deeper into the loving embrace of his bed 

The twitching beside him stopped.

\--

Natasha rubbed her temples. “You always were noisy in bed.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Only that’s not when he punched me.”

\--

Clint froze and struggled to keep his breathing even. He’d gotten his share of licks startling Natasha in the night, and this guy had a metal arm. He had to take it easy here.

He stared at the digital clock, waiting until the bright, angry, red letters marked two minutes, he let out a deep sigh. If Barnes was going to freak out, he’d have done it already. With a smile, Clint rolled onto one side and closed his eyes. 

The thing was, Clint knew when he was sharing a bed. It was like some kind of deeper command that seeped into his brain, needling at him like an itch that wouldn’t stop. It sank into his dreams and blared like a klaxon call:

Cuddle.

In his conscious mind, he knew that trying to cuddle the Winter Soldier was a very, VERY bad idea. Unfortunately, his conscious mind was having a bit of a siesta.

\--

Natasha rose silently from her seat and retrieved a new bottle of amaretto from the cabinet. Without a word, she ripped the plastic off the top, unscrewed the lid, and poured a shot’s worth into the coffee mug. 

She took a sip, closed her eyes, and muttered: “Go on.”

\--

So Clint did what felt natural. He scooted back in the bed, seeking the warmth of the bed’s other occupant.

The punch to his ribs stopped him before he fully managed to get his snuggle in. Clint yelped and scrambled out of the bed and…Christ!

Everyone knew Darcy called Bucky “Bear.” Clint had always figured it was because the guy was Russian, or maybe because of the way he looked at Steve. To be fair, everyone looked at Steve and Thor that way so maybe it was a poor assumption.

Suddenly, Clint had good reason to suspect it was because, when provoked, the man was like a fucking grizzly! 

“Bucky!” Clint shouted, holding up his hands. Apparently half-asleep Soviet assassins weren’t into surrenders. The flesh fist –Thank God it wasn’t the cryogenic one—popped him right in the eye, knocking Clint flat on his ass.

“Shit!” Clint shouted, then threw one hand in front of him. “Sputnik!”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head and, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he crumpled to the ground.

\--

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose.

“He hates when you do that,” she pointed out.

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, well, he hates beating up his roommate, too.”

Natasha shook her head and offered him a sip of her spiked coffee. Clint drained the cup and sighed, relieved and more than a little buzzed, the lightweight.

“So. What about your broken nose?”

“Oh that?” Clint poked at his bruised nose. “He got the hiccups. I tried to help.”


End file.
